


Escape

by Chubbycubby



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-28 03:45:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10823073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chubbycubby/pseuds/Chubbycubby
Summary: That's one handsome stranger at the end of your bar.





	Escape

Food, fuel, water, none of it was a guarantee in Junkertown, but booze? Booze was always on the menu. The bar was the most well-oiled joint in the whole operation, sporting a concrete foundation _and_ a roof. The beer wasn’t always cold, but it was always there and that was enough for Junkers.

 

“Hey Roadie, why are sitting all the way here, at the back bar, instead of upfront with everyone else?” Junkrat asks. He pauses, but Roadhog doesn’t move. Junkrat grumbles and stirs his pina colada with his finger. He doesn’t even like to drink, but he had been talking so excitedly he hardly realized where they were going until they were here.

 

He especially didn’t like sitting next to the wall at the end of the bar. He knows Roadhog did it on purpose so he wouldn’t bother another patron. But why if all he was gonna do is stare into space with his mask half off? This was like one of those puzzles Roadhog always talked about. “I’m always talking. You don’t listen quietly enough.” Junkrat supposes he’ll work this one out so they can do something else.

 

Junkrat thoughtfully sips the slush through his straw, going over the facts in his head. Number one, Roadhog doesn’t like drinking. He has a high tolerance and so forth. Junkrat didn’t like drinking too much either. So, in conclusion, there was a reason they were at the bar, not out of passive habit.

 

Number two, Junkrat had been cruelly deprived of the ability to speak with anyone. Offshooting from two, Roadhog never struck up conversation with strangers. So, they weren’t there to talk. That was the top two things to do at the bar, along with dancing and pool, but they weren’t doing that either.

 

They weren’t there to drink. They weren’t there to socialize, so what else is there to do at the bar? Junkrat slurps the end of his drink, instantly getting a brain freeze. Wincing in pain he presses his left hand to his nose and closes his eyes.

That’s it! To look at people. People watching was a great sport, but Junkrat never had the patience to not get involved. That brings him pause. If he figures out who Roadhog is looking at, he’ll feel the need to get involved, and probably fuck something up. He should just drop this thought train all together and let Roadhog do whatever it is that he is doing. He’s so close to knowing! but his destructive nature will take over, and Roadhog will be pissed.

 

“You want another one of those?”

 

Junkrat looks up from his agonizing the debate and curses his genius. The bartender! Of course, that’s why they were sitting on the short side of the bar, so Roadhog could always see her. It’s all coming together, and now he is in the perfect position to fuck that right up. If he dwells on what to say, he might creep her out so he goes with his best first idea.

 

Junkrat slaps the bar and says, “Two of ‘em, one for me and one for my buddy, Roadhog.”

 

You glance at Roadhog, who subtly shakes his head, then back to Junkrat, “One pina colada, coming up.” You nod at Roadhog and walk away to wrestle with the electrical nightmare that is the blender.

 

Junkrat snaps his attention to Roadhog, and just before he speaks, remembers to lower his voice, “Are you crazy?”

 

Roadhog raises his eyebrows, a little surprised Jamie figured it out. He doesn’t say anything on the off chance the man’s actually upset about the turned down drink. You manage to get the blender working, muting chatter around you.

 

Junkrat sits up in his bar stool, going on, “She’s an attractive, female, bartender in Junkertown. She will stab you in the eye with her lime knife if she doesn’t like you, and that’ll hurt extra bad,” Junkrat shifts around, as if he trying to stand up on the stool, “The fact that _I’m_ telling you this is a bad idea should tell you how bad of an idea it is!”

 

Roadhog tips his mask up a little farther up to sip his beer. The blender has turned off by the time his glass touched the bar so he doesn’t respond. You return with a frozen concoction in a beer glass and exchange the full drink for the empty. You steal a glance at the unmasked portion of Roadhog’s face and it makes your heart flutter.

 

“Can I get you anything?” you ask him.

 

“No, but thank you,” he says thoughtfully.

 

The politeness catches you off guard, and your reply is late, “Just let me know.”

 

He nods, you smile and turn to the next thirsty patron. You had to be dreaming. The interaction seemed so plain, yet something about it sticks out in your mind.

 

“You didn’t say anything to her?” Junkrat hisses once you’re on the other end of the bar.

 

Roadhog smiles, “I didn’t want to get stabbed with her lime knife.”

 

Junkrat groans annoyedly, but Roadhog is still watching you. You pull the tap bar towards you, and it makes the dreaded sputter. You will the tap to give you more beer, but it serves you nothing but foam. The keg needs changed, but stranded on the back bar it’s tough to flag down another bartender to help you.

“You reckon you can do with something else until I can change the tap?” you ask.

 

“The fuck I can!” came the typical hyper aggressive reply. You’re hardly phased by it and dully squint at the patron, mindful of the lime knife in your reach. In the corner of your eye you see Roadhog get up. Normally you would tell patrons to fuck off because you can handle it, but you trust him. He makes his way to the angry patron and puts a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Do you need assistance?” he asks you.

 

“I think I’ll be alright,” you glance at the terrified patron while you slowly make a whiskey and coke for him, “I think we’ve got this sorted out,” you look back to Roadhog when you put the drink on the bar, “Unless you wanna help me change the keg.”

 

“I can do that,” he replies.

 

You’re not sure what about him makes you feel so vulnerable, but you can’t show it in front of you patrons. You wave to Old Tom, the man this bar was built around. He nods and taps the shotgun beside him with a certain senile lunacy you’ve grown used to.

 

Letting Roadhog behind the bar was a difficult squeeze but he managed. You pull up the rug and yank on the cellar door. It’s a wide entrance, but dimly lit so you lead the way down the stairs. Junkrat looks on in suspense, unsure what to think about this plot development.

 

You glance back to see if he’s following, and you’re surprised to see he’s removed his mask completely. You flush with heat despite nearing the cooler. Finding the right key on your ring is a struggle because all of them are so similar. Trying to cut the awkwardness, you say, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with your mask off.”

 

“Not many people here have.”

 

You unlock the refrigerator, to hear the familiar chug of the CO2 machine on an empty line. You’re quick to get the old keg out of the way, taking only a minute to unhook it. Empty, it was light enough to move yourself. You turn to set it aside and Roadhog is ready with the next. You at first think he must have an empty one, but you can tell it’s untapped.

 

A little stunned, you step out of the way. He sets it down gently, and you get to work reattaching the lines. It only takes a few minutes. When you stand back up, you’re surprised he’s rotated all the kegs. That was a feat of immense strength for two people, much less one, much much less in that amount of time. You look to him clearly in awe of his strength.

 

He closes the gap between you in two strides. You’re on the platform with the keg, peering down at his serene expression His smile is so soft and subtle, it makes you forget the chill. He places his hands on your waist gently, and you immediately return the gesture by touching his chest. Your feet leave the ground as he pulls you into his arms. His hands did not tremble or struggle to hold you poised above him.

 

You’re so overwhelmed you have to kiss him. He returns it quickly and softly, leaving no question to his actions. Feeling weightless in is arms, the chill air around you, you feel a million miles from all your strife. For a moment, you feel rested and safe, and you kiss him over and over in thanks.

 

In one smooth motion he places you back on the ground. Before he lets go of you, he kisses you back deeply. You go on your tip-toes to kiss him harder, and his lips part for you. He tastes like beer, but you drink it in greedily. You feel him pull away and stop yourself from keeping him there. You look so sweet standing there like that, and it almost hurts to put on his mask and turn away. But you both had responsibilities, and the world did not stop turning for anyone.

 

He glances back to you, and you smile, glad to get out of the cold. You lock the door behind you and look to him. It had all happened so fast you start to doubt it even did.

 

He senses your disquiet and says to you, “I like changing kegs.”

 

You give a little laugh, glancing at his figure, “Me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this at the last minute for Spunkrat's bday.


End file.
